


The Dragon And The Wolf

by DagReaper (TyJaxReaper)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Everyone Is Alive, Happy Starks, Jon And Robb Are Betrothed, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow knows something, Jon Targaryen Knows Nothing, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Winterfell, or does he?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9393650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyJaxReaper/pseuds/DagReaper
Summary: Jon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, his father’s sister. That’d made him Robb’s cousin. And yet, no one seemed to be that bothered by the fact that it’s been arranged for him to be married to the man.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Completely random AU where Jon is a Targaryen and his mother died during childbirth, father died whenever, so he was taken in by the Martell's. And Jon and Rob were arranged to be married and Rob only recently about out about it. 
> 
> YAY for Jon/Robb!!!!! xD

Jon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, his father’s sister. That’d made him Robb’s cousin. And yet, no one seemed to be that bothered by the fact that it’s been arranged for him to be married to the man. And he was just that, a _man_. And relative, at that. It should’ve seemed as scandalous as the Queen and her brother, but no. The Stark’s and Winterfell itself didn’t seem worried, or incredulous or even the least bit outraged or disgusted.

Robb, himself, wasn’t disgusted by it, or outraged. He was just simply confused, stunned. He’d only just found out about this development, being arranged to be wedded to a _man_ and _family_. He’d never heard of this. Well, he’d heard of the rumours of Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon. But they weren’t relatives, and everyone seemed to look down upon them for that. But Robb Stark, heir to the King in the North and Winterfell, and Jon Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen’s heir and his cousin.

He must’ve sounded hysterical in his own mind. He was just so stunned. Not even a week ago he’d been given this news and the Targaryen’s were already so close to the gates of Winterfell, ready to commence some sort of wedding for Robb and Jon. He’d never met him, only heard of him, and only in the last week if that, in fact. Nothing else was told of him. Just heritage, family and the impressed explanation his family gave as his father re-read the letters sent by them of what Jon was like in personality and physicality. He was, apparently, quite the man, strong, brave, intelligent and, from description, handsome.

Robb had just about finished dressing himself to impress the guests, Jon especially, at his mother’s orders. He’d found his finest outfit and even asked for an opinion from his two guards, who’d given him their honest answer. Thankfully, they never lied unless he asked them to.

He slipped his cloak over his shoulders, clipping the metal Direwolf teeth-cuffs together before staring at himself in the mirror. The young lord eyed himself over before huffing and shaking his head in disdain for the abruptness and last minute feel to this whole thing. He hadn’t been told anything until this week. What was he meant to think? Meant to feel? Robb never did well with trying to make sense of his confusion. Confusion for him was rare and unwelcomed.

With one last sigh, he turned away from the mirror and headed towards his door, pulling it open with a self-composed calmness that he hadn’t had before then in this entire week. He stepped out, closing it behind him and nodding in appreciation towards his two guards as they gave him a look of approval at his neat appearance.

Robb said nothing as he passed between them, forcing himself into a prideful and self-confident stride towards the main hall, where he was aware his family was waiting. They were setting up for a feast, maybe having finished by the time he’d get there. He heard one of his two guards following behind, having been ordered to keep him safe during this risky greet. Once Jon Targaryen agreed, by order of his own father, the guard would back off and let them have their time. He’d only return if they took a moment of separation.

He strode down the hall, keeping his posture as straight and confident as he could before reaching the doors, two guards already standing outside of the room. They gave him a respectful greeting, simple nods with a ‘ _M’lord_ ’ passing their lips. He returned the nod before stepping between them, through the doors and into the large dining hall. As soon as he walked in, he saw his parents standing at the very end, the lengthy dining table stretched along he wall for where his parents, the Targaryen’s, he and his betrothed were meant to dine together. And Robb gradually made his way towards them, sighing silently.

“Father, mother,” he called out softly, watching as they swiftly turned, and as soon as his mother saw him, he could _see_ the warmth radiating, her eyes beginning to gloss over with promised tears, and a smile grew wide across her lips, her hands reaching up to cover it. His father was smiling softly, eyeing him over with a prided gleam in his gaze.

“My beautiful boy,” his mother’s voice cracked slightly and it seemed like she had no idea on what to do with her hands. They reached out and then pulled back, again and again, as if she didn’t want to touch him incase of ruining his appearance in any way. His father reached out a hand, clapping it down heavy on his shoulder with a widened grin, a deep laugh leaving his chest.

“Your mother and I’ve waited so long for this,” he’d gestured to the clothes, being careful as he retreated his hand. His mother was still uncertain in touching him, but she was clearly becoming overwhelmed by his presence in the neat, ceremonial garments. It seemed that, regardless of whom he was being wedded to, it was just the fact of his marriage that made them overjoyed and tearful.

“I’m sure the Targaryen will have difficulty in keeping his gaze astray,” his mother managed, her voice still mildly shaken and strained from the noticeable wetness at the rim of her eyes and the redness creeping into her cheeks. Though, he swore that he’d caught the very well hidden bitter tone that had finely laced her sentence. Maybe she wasn’t as happy of his betrothed, or the marriage completely, as she appeared.

“Lord and Lady Stark,” Robb and his parents turned to one of the guards, the one standing a mere few feet away and specked with snow. A guard posted outside of the castle. “The Targaryen’s have arrived,” once he’d registered the statement, his heart skipped, speeding up a tad. His nerves faintly sparked under his skin, making him seem just the slightest bit nervous.

“Robb. Stay in here. I’d rather your ceremonial attire stay clean,” his mother stated quickly before her and his father were led out of the hall. He waited only a few seconds in silence with his nerves gradually getting to him when he felt a hand being gently placed on his shoulder. He swiftly turned, spotting Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon, seeming joyed, with their smiles. They were in neat attire as well, though not to Robb’s ceremonial extent. His were made for his duty of the day, to be wed.

“Scared, Robb?” the eldest sister almost smirked, seeming just a tad smug that she’d actually caught him out. He gave her a smile, a little forced, he’d admit.

“Not scared, per se. Just nervous is all,” he confessed simply. Anyone would be nervous on their wedding day, even Robb. He was human after all. They’d heard stories of their mother and father's wedding, and it excited him, but his tension outweighed it, pushing back so he had a very faint tremble, unnoticeable, thankfully.

“Why?” Arya questioned him, her expression actually seeming confused as to why he felt that way. Honestly, he was sure that Arya understood that this was a massive step, a large change and acceptance within Winterfell. Men marrying men was unheard of. This would be a first, from what knowledge he had.

“I’m about to be wed,” he replied, his tone half flat, as if she should already understand what had him nervous. But the expression she had, was even flatter, like she still didn’t see why he was anxious.

“So?” clearly, she was still too young to understand the feelings behind such a massive occasion as this. Maybe her reaction was only delayed. Maybe later, the news of her oldest brother’s marriage was strike her and she’d understand that Robb had taken a large step towards being the young Lord his father wanted him to be, to be the respectable man that he wanted to be… and to be the husband his _soon-to-be_ partner wished him to be.

“You’ll understand when you’re to be married, Arya,” Robb smiled at her, reaching out an arm and drawing her into a loose embrace, planting a soft kiss to her forehead. She only pulled back to grin up at him.

“I’m not getting married,” she replied curtly before stepping back to grab at Rickon’s hand. He was even younger, and Bran. He doubted that they could comprehend this. He was aware that the youngest thought that he was losing his oldest sibling. He’d cried into his chest, repeating ‘ _don’t go_ ’ over and over the same night that they were all told of his arranged marriage. And Robb, with his father and mother’s help, had calmed him, comforting him by saying that he wouldn’t leave him, abandon him, when in truth, Robb was uncertain. He didn’t completely know if he was to board a ship and leave for Dorne, or if he was to stay in Winterfell with Jon Targaryen at his side.

“Congratulations, Robb,” he drew himself from his thoughts just as his sister, Sansa reached out and embraced him, lacing her arms tightly around his shoulder and back. There was a moment of silence and he then felt her shift stiffly. “They’re here,” she whispered into his ear before she pulled back, gently patting his shoulders with a genuine smile on her features.

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath while staring at her before deciding to glanced over his shoulder at the group entering the room. Their mother and father were first, smiles still present. Robb turned, gradually lining up with his siblings in line of age, him standing on the end, next to Sansa with his hands slipping behind him, under his formal cloak, fingers entangling.

“I’d like to introduce my children,” his father began as the group slowly came to a halt ahead of them. “Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa,” he’d gestured towards them as he called their names, each giving a courteous bow. “And Robb, our eldest,” as his name was spoken, he closed his eyes and lowered his head, bending forward just a tad. When he returned to his straightened posture, he noted the almost sly smirks places on the woman and man on either side of who he instantly assumed was Doran Martell, given his posture, not unlike his father’s. He had the same atmospheric air about him. The two on either side, he was uncertain. And then there was one man in dragon armour. Targaryen armour, just a few feet to the side. He only eyed him for a half a second before drawing his gaze back towards the Martell leader.

“I am Doran Martell. My brother, Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria,” he’d gestured to both sides as he gave their names. Robb had the faces to the names, having heard a tale or two about them. “This is your betrothed, young Stark. Jon Targaryen,” he turned his gaze back to him, watching carefully as the man in question stepped casually forward, rounding the Martell’s to saunter toward Robb. He took a silent breath and took his own step forward, as if outing himself.

“It’s an honour, Robb Stark,” he was formal, by greeting standards. The Targaryen had bowed his head, Robb deciding to do the same to seem just as polite and respectful.

“Likewise, Jon Targaryen,” the Stark replied. It actually seemed like they were being too formal, almost clichely so. They stood straighter almost in unison, and the man hadn’t stepped back or turned away. The two were staring at each other, and Jon’s felt almost penetrating. The dark orbs gazing so strongly at him, and it didn’t seem to be in displeasure. If anything, he seemed fixated. His mother may have been right about his appearance being something that the man couldn’t stray his sight from.

It was maybe a moment later that he saw his hand rising, taking a step closer. His fingertips were warm on the skin of his jaw, running along it until he reached his chin, where he hooked a finger underneath. There was another moment, a mere second or two, as if he were waiting for something. Robb was itching, his spine and chest fluttering with warmth. He hadn’t gasped and his breath hadn’t hitched, but his heartbeat had skipped hotly, his eyes softening while warmly staring into the dark chocolate gaze.

He felt him lean closer, his hand shifting just slightly, and then the heat was pressed against his lips, mouth to mouth with the Targaryen. His breathing had hitched that time, but quietly and through his nose. He could feel the heat of Jon’s breathing through his own nose and mouth, the warmth lingering while their lips lightly fitted and pressed, almost moulding together in what seemed like a progressing kiss. Robb didn’t pull away, he’d actually unintentionally gravitated closer, his hand reaching up to press his gloved palm and fingers to the metal leather mix armour on his stomach.

Robb had felt the flutter grow just a tad stronger, the heat following close behind, and it was about then that the Targaryen broke the kiss, though reluctantly, from the cool of his expression faltering.

“It’s our way of showing that we like our betrothed,” Oberyn Martell sounded more than amused. Robb could almost _hear_ the grin he was sporting.

“I very much like him,” Jon muttered against his lips warmly, and it drew a smile to his face, the corners of his mouth gradually curving upwards.

“I quite like you,” he spoke without his brain, his mouth moving just a tad faster than he’d appreciate.

“Good,” not even a full second after Jon had said it, the lips were back on his, warming them and making his chest flutter harder, warming him. He actually had to hold off from squirming for a little more than casual lips on lips. He’d kissed a girl before, he had experience, and this was practically pecking with their mouths locked together.

“What say we give them their privacy, yes?” Doran Martell was heard in the back, and almost as if on cue, Jon broke the kiss again and aimed a smile his way. Robb smiled in return, an almost gushing, bashful version.

“Your quarters?” were they already getting into that? He hadn’t expected it to move that fast.

“Alright,” he’d heard himself saying before lightly gripping at the Targaryen’s hand and stepping backwards to direct him. He then turned and led him off, leaving his parents and siblings a little struck.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed. Let me know what you though. 
> 
> I'm actually thinking on turning this into an actual story, multi-chapters and everything when I get the time and motivation xD


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